The Greek Billionair's Marriage Matchmaker(25)

So they did it all themselves.



Anita could tell that Fadi was still in a sour mood, it was just that it  was hard to care when she was floating on a cloud the way she was. She  turned up the music, which they would normally turn off during cleanup,  and danced around him.



She was determined to pull him out of whatever kind of funk he was in,  but Fadi wasn't having any of it. She couldn't remember a time when he'd  so stubbornly committed to being upset, so she tried harder, turning  her enthusiasm up a notch, and putting on a song that she knew for a  fact he liked, even if he would deny it if she ever told anyone.



She sang in his ear. "Shake it off, ah ah ah, shake it off!"



"Enough!" His voice was a half-growl, half-roar.



It scared Anita. Fadi had never scared her. He'd made her anxious to please him, and sorry she'd disappointed him. But scared?



"Turn that off," he said, more quietly. "I need to talk to you."



Like a puppet on strings, Anita went to the sound system and turned off  the music. The restaurant felt so cold and empty without it.



She returned, and stood in front of him, waiting for whatever punishment was coming.



"Now," he said. "The waitresses said they saw you talking to the Sheikh tonight. Is this true?"



She nodded. She wanted to add something in her defense, about how they  had just been making the usual waitress-customer small talk, but it  wouldn't have been true, and she had a feeling that excuses would only  have made things worse.         

     



 



"And am I to assume," he continued, with the same glowing coal of anger  in his eyes, "that your good mood is due to something he has said?"



Anita nodded again, but this time Fadi looked like he was waiting for  further explanation. She gave it to him, her voice sounding quiet and  weak in the light of her father's anger.



"He lost his ring. I returned it to him. He said he wanted to take me out to dinner to thank me."



Fadi looked like he was about to boil over again, but he held it in.  There was something else in his expression that Anita couldn't quite  make out.



And then she placed it. It was fear.



"You're not going," he said, then he turned away, as though that was the end of the discussion.



Anita was worn out from a day that had been an endless roller coaster of  emotions. She was in no mood to have one of the greatest feelings she  had felt in her young life yanked away from her with no explanation.



"I am going," she replied. Her voice shook when she said it.



Fadi's voice shook when he answered, but with anger rather than trepidation. "You have no idea what I've given up for you."



Anita felt her own anger rising to meet his. "And how would I? You never tell me anything!"



He turned back to face her, the hot coal in his eyes again.



Anita continued, her own emotions rising. "Hakim taught me more about my  family in two sentences than you have in eighteen years! I have a right  to know!"



He started stepping towards her, now, and the fear she'd felt earlier  was coming back. He was like a powerful beast, she thought. She'd never  given much thought to how strong he was, but he was more musclebound  than a cook had any right to be.



"Right?" he bellowed. "What right? You don't have a right to anything,  girl. You only think you do because I raised you like a little  princess!"



Anita felt her rage turn into righteous anger. He'd done nothing of the  sort. She'd worked alongside him for everything they'd ever got. Yes,  he'd struggled to make a life for them, but she'd always struggled with  him. Nothing had ever been handed to her. And he had the nerve to insult  her that way now, just because she had talked to a man that he didn't  approve of?



"Well, I'm not a little princess anymore. I'm not a little anything anymore. And I deserve to know."



She could see the conflict in him. It was like he wanted to say two  things at once, but he couldn't say either. Instead, his rage boiled  over. He grabbed a glass candleholder off the nearest table, and hurled  it across the restaurant.



The sudden movement seemed to break the spell. All Anita could think was  that that was quite a lot of rage for her never to have seen in the  last eighteen years.



Fadi turned back to face her. The emotions had drained from his face, his anger broken with the glass candle holder.



"It's dangerous for you to talk to those men. You won't do it. You can't. That's all you need to know."



And then he walked away, leaving Anita alone in the empty restaurant.





FIVE





Anita began trying to get the restaurant back into order, but realized  very quickly that she had no chance of doing it by herself. The day was  hitting her, hard, and the second wind she'd gotten at Hakim's  invitation was completely gone now she knew she couldn't accept it.



She wanted to rage at Fadi. She wanted to rebel, and tell him he had no  power over her, and he couldn't tell her what to do. But tonight had  been so different. It had been like she didn't even know him. The  strangers had brought out a side to him that she'd never even known  existed, and wished now that she had never seen.



The one thing that she knew was that after seeing him like that, and  seeing the way he insisted that it was too dangerous to see Hakim, she  couldn't see him.



She resolved to keep asking. Now that she knew a little more about the  history of her ring, she felt it like a hand on her, reaching out from  the past. It was like her father was calling out to her.



But she would never get anything out of Fadi if she disobeyed him in  such a serious way. And one evening of polite conversation with a man  who felt indebted to her for returning his lost ring felt like a bad  trade for a lifetime relationship with her father.         

     



 



She climbed the stairs slowly, heading towards her bed, convinced that  if Hakim actually did remember her number and ever contacted her, she  would have to turn him down.



She changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed. This, at least, was  still the same. This room was home. It had been home for as long as she  could remember.



This was her life. It was the one where she worked her hardest at the  restaurant, and at school. It was the life where she was a dutiful  daughter who cared about her family, and her friends, and didn't get  asked out by handsome princes.



Anita was just beginning to doze off, her eyes opening and closing  sleepily, when she saw her ceiling light up, followed by the subtle buzz  of her phone. She reached out to grab it off the nightstand, her tired  arm grasping awkwardly and accidentally knocking a book to the floor.



She picked up the phone and looked. A text from an unknown number:



Hello Anita. Are you still awake?



Anita laughed into the empty room, careful to keep her laughter quiet  enough that Fadi wouldn't be able to hear it through the walls.



It was Hakim. It had to be. And he didn't text much, judging by his  weirdly formal text speak. Besides, anyone who did much texting would  know that a text like that, sent at 1:30am, was a booty call. And there  was nothing funnier than the idea of the proper, elegant sheikh she'd  met earlier making a booty call.



She went to reply that she was, then hesitated. She had to turn him  down. She had to tell him she couldn't see him. But, Anita thought, she  didn't have to do it right away. It would be rude not to at least have a  little bit of a conversation with him.



I am. Is this Hakim?



A silly question, but she felt a little awkward texting the man with the  entourage and the limousine from the pink and yellow patterned bedroom  she'd had since she was three.



She saw the little bubble. Typing … . Typing …  Never had that little typing  bubble been more annoying to her than it was now. Finally, she got a  response.



Oh good, I remembered right. Thank you again for finding my ring. I hope  you will allow me the honor of taking your out to dinner tomorrow  night. Pardon my contacting you at such a late hour. I only did so  because I needed to know if you would be available, so that I can make  the proper arrangements as early in the morning as possible.



It was, by leaps and bounds, the longest text Anita had ever received. No, the Sheikh apparently did not text.



She bit her lip. She couldn't answer his question right away. If she  did, the conversation would be over before it started. She wanted to  live in the moment a little longer.



Since she was never going to see him again, Anita figured she might as  well say what she really wanted to. She typed it into her phone and  pressed send, holding her breath while the progress bar filled at the  top of the screen.



Is that the only reason?



A typing bubble. And then no typing bubble. And then a typing bubble again. Was he trying to kill her?



Finally, a response.



For shame. Such implications! And here I am, innocently begging you to  promise to see me when you're almost certainly in bed. Innocently. Like  an innocent person.